


it's still you

by alltheworldsinmyhead



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, my feels about s3 are showing hahha, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 03:54:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5990842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltheworldsinmyhead/pseuds/alltheworldsinmyhead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody could say Bellamy Blake wouldn't go to hell and back just to bring Clarke Griffin home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's still you

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so first things first - all my love for Lana, who was the best support group EVER while I was writing this. Babe, there are no words to express how much i respect and admire your opinion so I really, really hope you'll like it :D  
> Also, Mary - my wonderful bf since forever who read the first draft and offered her opinion via skype - I love you a lot and thank you so much :)
> 
> So, this is mostly me trying to deal with s3 feels. You can listen to No Light No Light ( Florence + The Machnie ) and Where's My Love ( SYML) for first two parts and then Find My Way Back To You ( Eric Arjes) for the next two, if you want.  
> ( i'm such a stydia trash and it SHOWS) 
> 
> Anyway, I'm not a native speaker, so I'm really sorry for any mistakes that may occur here, I was trying my best to get rid of them. Enjoy ;)

 

 

**when it’s even darker**

**than it is now, when the snow is colder,**

**when it’s darkest and coldest**

**and candles are no longer any use to us**

**and the visibility is zero: Yes.**

**It’s still you. It’s still you.**

**\- Margaret Atwood Shapechangers in Winter**

  


* * *

 

**Part one: Disturbia. Bellamy.**

**-**

 

Clarke tastes like this weird, British tea brewed with milk she picked up drinking to,  at least partially, cut down on coffee.  Her eyes are dark; sky blue almost gone as she presses closer and closer and kisses him roughly, _needy._ Her hair is everywhere; in his eyes, on his neck, tangled between his fingers. She bites on his bottom lip and he can feel blood.

He puts one hand on her shoulder, feeling tense muscles and rough, sun- burnt skin she always has in summer.

‘’Easy, princess.’’- he says against her mouth, leaning his  forehead on hers.

Clarke’s whole body shivers; she pulls away from him with a deep sight, still straddling his lap but far enough for him to see her face.

‘’I’m sorry.’’ – she says with a small, tired voice; she raises one hand and wipes blood from his lip and chin with the palm. – ‘’I don’t know what’s going on with me lately.’’

He studies her face; deep shadows under her eyes,  skin peeling off on the bridge of her nose, summer freckles, lips deep red, jaw pink from his 5 o’clock shadow. He’s not an artist, but he could paint Clarke Griffin’s face in his mind perfectly, without a single glitch. He knows this face better than he knows his own.

She pulls her hair back and he notices how short her nails are-

Why is she biting them again?

He cups her face to give her a kiss on the forehead – the one she claims to hate, but she secretly loves- and her whole body melts against his; she buries her face in his neck, tucking her head under his chin; her hands go up to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck.

It’s all well-known and familiar,  like a favorite song that never gets boring.

But.

‘ It’s okay.’ He whispers and she closes her eyes, her lashes on his skin like butterflies-

Only, he’s not entirely sure he’s not lying.

 

-

 

‘ It’s only two months.’ – she says, spitting her hair from her mouth  as harsh wind messes up her already messy bun.  – ‘You won’t even notice that I’m gone.’

They both know that’s a fucking bullshit, but it’s easier that way. Keep it light, keep it funny, keep it not-so-serious and maybe neither of them will run away, terrified with how serious it actually is.

‘’ Nah. You’re taking the best set of breasts in the entire state with you. I’ll surely notice their absence.’’

She laughs out loud and wraps her arms around his neck to peck him on the corner of the lips; short, sweet and feeling more natural than it should feel, after only a month of going out together.

 _She’ll be longer away than in a relationship with him_ – it crosses his mind like a lightning, freezing him in place, but he brushes away this realization easily. He has spent two years of loudly hating and then quietly loving Clarke Griffin;  now that he’s sure she’s in love with him to, nothing really scares him that much anymore.

Well. Only this under-the-skin, itchy feeling that something bad is about to happen.

‘’It’s nice to see that you have your priorities straight.’’

‘’ That’s literally only straight thing about this relationship’’-  he grins,  bending a little to wrap a scarf around her neck tighter.  It’s a rather cold spring and she looks like a daydream; all golden hair and flushed cheeks, grey coat with little pon-pons attached to a zipper, old, worn-out chucks she decided to wear because:  ‘‘it’s going to be warm in the plane, Bellamy, stop being such a hen.’’

Female voice from the speakers announces her flight and it feels like a bucket of cold water emptied on their heads.

She’s really leaving. Bellamy knows it’s an amazing opportunity and he could never, ever let her let it down. Studying art in Rome? Fucking dream. Clarke’s dream. Something she wanted so badly and worked so hard for.

Something which was – theirs.

‘’I know you can’t leave Octavia alone now, but - we were supposed to go there together.’’- she says quietly, staring down at their clasped hands, her fair skin making a sharp contrast against his dark one. He runs a thumb across her knuckles and squeezes her hand gently.

‘ ‘I know, but- things change. We can’t always get what we want. I’ll stay here, take care of O and keep your fish alive  and  safe from this demon spawn of a cat . And then you’ll come back-’‘

She raises her head, looks him right in the eyes and nods sharply.

‘’ Yes. Yes, I will.’’

He smiles. God, damn Clarke Griffin, her voice with a force of steel, this faith she still has in him.

In them. She has faith in them and so does he. And so he lets her go.

‘‘So we have nothing to worry about right?’’  –he  puts one hand on her waist, pulling her close and kissing her, the way a girl going on two months long trip to Europe should, in his opinion, be kissed. He feels her smiling against his lips, and when he releases her from his grip , she stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek.

‘‘God, Bell.’’ – she whispers, nosing his neck while hugging him. – ‘’I will really, really miss you.’’

She’s called again and he lifts her suitcase off the floor and she loops her old bag on her arm                           ( Headphones. Tissues. Small bottle of water. Hard candies. Small pillow. Sleeping mask. His shirt. Lipgloss. Hairbrush. Kindle with Terry Pratchett’s Diskworld novels on it. )

She sends him one more glance, small smile dancing in the corners of her lips and he waves his hand and then she turns around and goes away .

She doesn’t come back in the same way.

 

-

 

It’s not that everything is suddenly different when she’s back home.

It’s not that she looks differently, or acts completely different; it’s how she _feels._ It’s how she walks around their flat and he doesn’t recognize her footsteps; it’s how her paintings doesn’t make his heart ache in the best way anymore; it’s how she sits right beside him, but she could be thousand miles away,  because his body doesn’t even react to her like it did two months earlier.

And at first, Bellamy thinks it’s him. That there’s something wrong with him, that he has broken somehow, during the time she was away.

But.

He misses her. She’s back and he still misses her, the way he missed her when she was in Rome and even harder, each passing day.  He misses her  like she’s gone, when she’s there and it drives him insane.

And well, there’s sleeping.

Even when they were still  just friends ( only him and Clarke were never ‘just friends’, not really) they used to naturally gravitate towards each other, touch each other, tangle hands and legs and lean on one another, metaphorically and not. And when they started sleeping together, they usually fell asleep while laying on  top of one another rather than on actual mattress.

Bellamy used to wake up with Clarke’s icy cold feet pressed against his calves, her hair in his mouth, her spit on his shirt or skin and he would give up everything to have that again.

Now Clarke falls asleep curled up in a ball next to him; close, almost touching, but this almost more painful than anything else, like an ice wall between them. He tried wrapping her arm around her, pressing her closer but- it always feels like an invasion of her personal space, which is ridiculous, because there never used to be a thing called ‘personal’ when it came to two of them, and anyway, when he wakes up, it’s exactly like ‘new always’ is now; Clarke curled up in a ball, him facing her back; blanket wrapped so tightly around her, he’s afraid she’ll  suffocate one night.

But during day? He’s pretty afraid he’s the one suffocating. Because which every passing day, the itchy feeling itches more and more and then it starts to _hurt._

Here’s a thing; Bellamy knows Clarke like the back of his hand. He knows her quirks, her kinks, her loves and her hates; he can recite the list of her scars like a poem, map her skin inch by inch, measure the distance in her steps, see the whole damn world solely through her.

So, there are only two options; one is that he’s going crazy, real, batshit crazy. And another one is that-

That this girl isn’t really Clarke.

 

Not in a way- like twin lost at birth or a clone. More like a ghost, a shadow and he’s the one being haunted and it’s fucking creepy, chilling him to the deep bone, because nobody else seems to notice and everything carries on like usual-

They’re waking up, going through their schedules, living their lives; going to the cinema in the evenings or going out with friends or cuddling in front of the tv. And sometimes it’s almost like it used to feel.

They’re having sex and she comes differently than she used to; not like a wild thing but quiet, deep, her body heavy in his arms, her nails and teeth marking his skin with cuts, his hands bruising her without meaning to do so.

At night he stays up , eyes open in the darkness, fixed on the back of her head.

_What are you dreaming about? What has happened?_

And then, the most terrifying one:

_Who are you?_

_-_

Dreams start about three weeks after…  Clarke comes back.

He’s all alone, completely surrounded by the darkness and there’s this strange smell of mud and water-

 _Riverbank,_ he thinks, _I’m standing on the riverbank._

It’s cold and there’s a chilly wind blowing in his face and he’s still blind, darkness whenever he looks and then –

And then-

 

And then she screams.

Wails, cries, screams and screams and screams and when he wakes up, it’s still ringing in his ears, more real than anything else, more real than the bed, the room, the woman sleeping soundly by his side, barely breathing.

He looks at her and his blood freezes. Because for the first time since June 26th, airport and pink balloons and her lips tasting _wrong_ , she’s sleeping facing him.

Her eyes are closed, but she looks as if she was-

watching him.

 

That’s the first time he feels afraid.

  


-

 

The dreams continues, endless circle of the smell of the river, of darkness, of Clarke’s – his Clarke, the Clarke who used to feel like part of him, that part that’s now missing – piercing screams and the way he feels after.

Sadness. Despair. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurts like hell.

‘‘I’ve loved and I’ve loved and I’ve lost you.’’- sings  New Clarke quietly, brushing her hair in front of the mirror, like every single proper princess on the page of the fairy tales book. – ‘’And it hurts like hell.’’

The less he tries to pretend everything is okay, the less she tries too.

It’s still her. And it’s not, she’s someone – something – completely different, polar opposite, beautiful, hollow shell with no pearl inside. And neither of them hide it that well.

Raven notices too.

‘’It’s .. subtle.’’  – she says, taking a sip of whiskey. She looks him in the eye; her face looks – strange. He doesn’t recognize the expression.- ‘’You’d think I’m crazy but it’s like, someone stole something from her. Like she kept enough to fool you on first glance. But those things, those.. things you never notice, but they make you you… it’s all gone.’’

Bellamy takes Raven’s hand.

It feels good not to be the only one terrified.

-

 

Mud. Fish. Seaweed. Darkness. Scream. Repeat.

Wake up.  Wake up.

WAKE UP.

 

This time, when he wakes up, it’s different.

New Clarke’s laying closer, hands pressed to his chest, their noses almost touching. For the split second, he can see her eyes wide open; blue gone, only black and black and no light.

-

 

‘’Maybe you should stop fighting with it.’’ – suggests Raven with a small voice, almost shyly, her hands clasped on a red mug with steaming coffee.

They’re sitting by small table for two in a café he’s never been to before, deep in the belly of the city. New Clarke left this morning, leaving him a note with  ‘ I have a doctor’s appointment today, I’ll be at 6, bye’’ and, if he wasn’t already sure that this is not real Clarke, he’s made up his mind in the moment he read it.

He used to keep Clarke’s notes:  small scribbles written in elegant cursive, tiny doodles underneath; Fred The Fish,  a sun behind a cloud, a ladybug happily munching holes in a leaf. Those notes had warmth radiating from them, a genuine intention to make his day a little better, not just to inform him to ‘ get his lazy ass from the couch and grab some Chinese cause we’re watching unbreakable kimmy schimdt tonight’.

‘’What do you mean?’’ -  he asks, focusing on Raven’s eyes, dark and sad, gleaming in dimmed light of a single light bulb hanging above their table.

‘’The dream. You should stop fighting it, stop trying to see something. Maybe you should just – I don’t know, let it unfold by itself. Maybe fighting makes you wake up.’’

Bellamy’s pretty sure it’s New Clarke that makes him wake up, but he doesn’t dare to say it out loud, so he just nods. And then he can’t help it; he bursts into laughter, grim and hollow and heart wrenching  even to his own ears.

‘ I’m sorry, but this is all just madness.’’-  He  puts elbows on the table, hiding face in hands and brushing hair from forehead; hands trembling and voice quiet. - ‘’My girlfriend went on an art scholarship to Europe and came back possessed. It sounds like a particularly bad episode of X-files’’

Raven’s entire face darkens suddenly.

‘’ Listen, Bellamy. I work for NASA.’’ She taps fingers on the table, short red nails clicking against the wood. She doesn’t look him in the eyes. ‘’ I don’t believe in UFO, possessions and all this X-files crap. But there are things – up there and down here- we can’t even begin to explain. Or get, really. It’s just… some things are just out there, without reason and explanation. I saw how are you with Clarke now. I don’t like being alone with her anymore. ‘’

He doesn’t either.

It’s already dark on the outside and it’s raining; drops of water on the window beside them catch car’s lights, light up in yellow, white and red.

 

-

 

He doesn’t fight. He’s just there and at first it’s the way it always is; the darkness, the river-

But there is no scream and after some time, he realizes he hasn’t really been blind; the darkness was just so much darker than any dark he has ever experienced before and his eyes needed to adjust. There’s a thick mist surrounding everything around him and it slowly evaporates into thin air.

The first thing he sees are people.

People standing all around him; all faint and pale; some crying, some looking terrified, but all calm and absolutely quiet.  They act like he’s not even there; they’re passing him in a steady stream, all heading towards the river.

The river.

It’s muddy and thick like a soup and it doesn’t even look like water. There’s something – wrong about it, wrong about the whole thing, the same wrong as Not-Clarke’s eyes and her kisses  and it takes him a while to spot it.

The water is _still._

The people make no sound, because _they’re not breathing._

He stops breathing too, panic choking him, stopping him mid-step, _jesus Christ they’re not breathing and the water is not running_

Familiar scream pierces the air and all people- ghosts? Dead? – turn to look at him.  


He wakes up.

Sun’s not up yet and Not-Clarke is standing near the window, staring out of it.

She looks – sad. She bites on her lip and turns around to face him and she’s so painfully not Clarke it cuts him like a knife.

‘’You shouldn’t have done it.’’ – she says.

-

‘’Do you think she’s really gone?’’

‘’I just can’t afford to think like that, Raven.’’

-

Abby calls on Sunday and when she asks:

‘’ Is there Clarke somewhere near you?’’  he has  ‘’ No, she’s not ‘’ rolling on his tongue, but then Not-Clarke appears, all flushed pink skin and wet hair, straight out of shower and he gives her phone without a word.

He‘s laying on the bed and he can hear them talking in another room; chatting about everything and nothing in particular. He can picture it; Clarke walking around their living room, playing with her hair and biting her tongue whenever she has an urge to argue.

His head hurts from all the thinking and the frustration nearly swallows him. He can’t give up and won’t give up, but, if he’s still stuck in this limbo for some more time, he’s afraid he’ll have no other option but to give up.

On Clarke.

Not- Clarke comes to the bedroom and throws the towel on the ground dramatically. She’s wearing nude bra and pink sleep shorts underneath and her hair is still wet and for a tiny second he forgets what he’s really looking at.

‘’God, I can’t believe her.’’ -  she huffs, jumping on the bed next to him and leaning down.

He lets her kiss him; he lets her touch him.

He feels his whole body tensing, lungs burning for air, head thrown back against the pillow. Her lips leave bruises and fire down his body, her nails dig in his flesh.

Clarke’s hair, back slender and smooth, spilled pomegranate fruit tattooed between her shoulder blades, magnolias on her right arm-

Wait.

Realization hits him suddenly, painful and mocking. _You’re a fool, Bellamy Blake._

_It’s impossible._

Not-Clarke snaps her head up, blue from her eyes long gone.

-

 

The river.

The line of dead people.

The darkness.

It all makes sense- in a way, because there are still huge holes he can’t  fill, no matter how much time he spends studying all of his books, searching for answers more desperately than ever.

‘How’-s and ‘ why ’-s  flooding his mind, as he cuts his fingers on the paper, turning pages, staring at the pictures until his eyes water.

Raven’s voice sound like life and for the first time in months, he can take a deep breath.

‘’ I’ve got something.’’

-

 

The first thing that crosses his mind is that Finn Collins looks like a poster teen boyband sensation, like the ones whose posters O used to hung above her bed,

He doesn’t look at him; he’s curled in his sit, hands clenched tight on a mug.

‘’She probably- doesn’t mention me now.’’

Bellamy  shakes his head.

‘’No. She said – when we skyped, she said she met you, that you’re in the same program, that you’re her friend. But when she came back, she didn’t talk about you.’’

_And I didn’t ask and I didn’t try to find you because I’m an idiot._

_She came back poisoned, she didn’t came back  at all and it didn’t even cross my mind to find you and ask you about her, because I’m an idiot._

‘’No wonder.’ Finn chuckles, eyes still firmly locked on the table. ‘’ I did something terrible to her. Something you’ll probably beat me up for, after I’m finished’’

Finn’s story is long, but it can be shortened quickly and easily. A boy meets a girl. The boy falls in love with the girl. The girl doesn’t.

Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme.

The boy pushes the girl into cold river, one spring evening and then runs.

Finns stares at invisible patterns on the wooden table, her voice shaky as a leaf on a harsh wind.

The  girl drowns.

 

Bellamy doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, if it was about love or art or broken heart or broken ambition; he sees the man sitting in front of him and it takes everything he has left not to strangle him with his bare hands.

Finn was right. He might beat him up after he’s finished.

‘‘I- I saw her in the river and I panicked. I called the ambulance and I run, hid. I saw them pulling her out and she was- I swear to you, she was dead.’ ‘

Finn’s voice shakes violently, and, for the first time, he looks straight at him.

‘‘ I swear, I don’t know why- it’s like something –  It’s like I had to push her. It’s like I died if I didn’t. And she died,  she was dead and then she wasn’t, but.  I quit the program, I left, came back to states and – I suppose she stayed to finish? She didn’t try to contact me and I-‘’- Finn leans down, his voice muffled as he hides his face in his hands. ‘’ I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know why I’m telling this to you.’’

Bellamy wants to say something, do something, but. He remembers.

Clarke’s face pixelated by the computer screen, deep blue of her eyes, the last real conversation they had, when she was still herself.

_‘’There’s this fountain, Bell. ‘’- she said, her voice light and excited- ‘’ All made out of carved vipers. Finn’s taking me to see it tonight, it’s by the river bank.’’_

A viper. A snake.

All of the pieces finally click in place. And it makes sense- in a nonsense, bat shit crazy sense.

_She is dead. Or – part of her. She died and part of her stayed._

_Oh my god._

Finn looks at him, still curled up. He looks- crooked. Hollow. Haunted.

_It’s like I died if I didn’t do it._

 

-

He doesn’t have an obol; he uses a regular coin instead.

Lays down on his back by Not-Clarke’s  side and shows it to her; he’s not afraid anymore.

This is not a demon, nor a shadow; this is a shell, just a shell, but a shell of Clarke anyway.

‘’ I’m bringing you home.’’ He says firmly and her dark eyes soften. She brushes hair out of his face, like Clarke used to.

‘’  You’re not going to make it.’’

‘’Watch me’’ -  Bellamy puts coin under his tongue and closes his eyes.

  


* * *

 

**Part two: Descent. Clarke.**

  
  


Water is cold and cruel and unforgiving and Clarke is-

‘’You’re a fighter, Princess. ’’ Bellamy sounds surprised when she finally collapses on the mats sweat getting in her eyes and boxing gloves still on her hands. ‘’ Who would have guessed?’’-

And Clarke is a fighter but she just can’t fight anymore.

Dark waters, dark night, deep dark, no stars.

 

Something inside her snaps in two and then she falls.

 

-

She presses her cold feet to Bellamy’s calves and whines

‘Tell me a story, Bell.’’

‘You sound like my sister.’ He says, still completely focused on a thick book on his lap. His reading glasses are crooked ; she fixes them with a finger, moving closer to him and letting his heat warm her up.

‘I’m pretty sure Octavia doesn’t need to be told stories anymore. C’mon Bellamy, don’t be like that’’-  she presses her lips to his arm and higher, on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck, under his jaw, on the corner of his lips.

‘’Please.’’-  she whispers right into his ear and he gives up with a sight.

‘’Always so bossy.’’-  he grumbles, putting the book on the nightstand and turning around to scoop her in his arms, letting her to rest her head on his chest.-  ‘’ Alright. What to you want? Mythology?’’

‘’Orpheus and Eurydice.’’ She says, warm and content and happy, so happy that she thinks she could just explode, burst from all this happiness inside of her.

He presses a kiss on the top of her head and threads his fingers in her hair ( ‘’I understand boobs, but my hair? That’s what I call a weird kink, you nerd- oh’’ )

‘’ Okay.’’

 

-

  


It’s – strange.

It’s beautiful down there, or, at least, it’s beautiful in Lexa’s garden. But she’s mostly existing in a  constant mist of confusion- what’s she doing here what’s she doing here what does ‘here’ exactly mean- and, most of the time, all she feels is longing.

She misses him.

Bellamy.

A name and a pair of strong arms and brown eyes ; beautiful mind and beautiful heart and _he isn’t there._

Lexa is good to her, kind; but she caresses her hair and it feels so, so wrong and Clarke cries and wails his name until she can’t speak anymore, only cry with no tears and no sound and miss and miss and miss.

Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy Bellamy

  


* * *

 

**Part three: Hell. Bellamy.**

 

**-**

 

The people. The river.

The boat.

Charon is a woman with dark, smooth skin and surprisingly full lips, solid figure letting people on the boat.

None of them have obols, but they all give her something; a photo, a ribbon, a necklace, a watch, a pieces of memories ripped from them along with wretched, silent sobs and strands of hair. Bellamy’s coin glistens when he puts it on Charon’s hand and she looks up at him.

‘’It’s been a long time since I was given money for this trip. Especially by the living.’’

Bellamy shrugs.

‘‘You’re gonna take me or not?’’

Corners of her lips go up for a tiniest second and then she nods and waves with one hand, ordering him to take a seat.

Crossing is long and dull; sailing on the river with no stream, surrounded by darkness and mist and this terrible silence ringing in his ears, Bellamy recites poems in his mind, tries to remember all of Octavia’s first words and recalls how Clarke’s laughter sounded like.

 

The boat reaches the shore and all of the shadows pass him in their way to their unknown destiny; he watches them until they disappear in the mist and then he turns around, trying to see something.

 

Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy-

The voice that leads him forward.

  


The garden is more beautiful than any place he has ever seen in his life.

Dark and misted; intricate spider webs spread in between branches like a most delicate lace, radiant, fluorescent butterflies and bone-white lilies with a scent so strong it makes his head dizzy. Pomegranate fruits hanging low on trees; ripe and scarlet, a few laying on the grass and opened, with seeds spilling like rubies.

She sits on the throne made out of branches; thick dark curls covering her bare arms and back; black paint smeared around her eyes and on her cheeks like a smoky eyes of the girl left alone on the dance floor on her prom night.  

Only, he can’t imagine a person leaving her anywhere. And he can’t imagine her crying.

‘’Persephone.’’

She furrows her brows and shakes her head.

‘’ Call me Lexa. That name hardly has a power in it anymore.’’

Lexa. Alexandria?

‘‘Lexa, then. I suppose you know what I’m doing here?’

She watches him with narrowed eyes, leaning her chin on hand; long eyelashes casting shadows on her cheekbones.

‘ ‘You came for her.’’

‘’Yes.’’

Dragonfly buzzes near his ear; one of the pomegranates falls on the ground, right under his feet.

‘‘Why?’’

Persephone’s – Lexa’s voice is uninterested, bored even, but he knows a scam when he sees it. There’s a spark in her eyes; she bites on her lips. He has eyes and knows how to use them.

Gods in mythology were human-like in many, many ways. But they never really understood human emotions. They never really get –

Love.

They wanted, so they took.  Violent delights and violent ends and in this game, mortals were always the losers.

But Bellamy’s not going to lose. Not this time.

Lexa stand up, comes closer next to him and this time, he sees it even clearer; excitement. Curiosity, which killed the cat.

‘’This girl, up there- she’s her in every way that matters. Why did you came here looking for her anyway?’ her face twists; something dark and misshapen spoiling her perfect features, like a mirror in the travelling funfair. ‘’ Why she can’t let go of you? Forget?’’

_Because candle can’t replace a forest fire; you know this and I know this too._

Curiosity. But not only. Two things gods were best at; greed and jealousy.

And lust.

‘’How long have you been watching us?’ he asks, his voice steady and unfazed; he’s not afraid. ‘’How long have you been watching her?’

She smiles a little.

‘’Longer than you know. It’s boring down here, you know, especially since Hades left and I’m stuck here, doing his job. .’’

‘’Why did you take her?’

Lexa scowls; her cloak twist around her ankles, as she turns around. She sends him a glance over a shoulder.

‘And why you came here looking for her?’

She snaps her fingers-

If he thought Lexa’s garden was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, he was wrong.

Clarke appears out of thin air and mist like a light of the candle; faint and then stronger and stronger, until she burns and shines; all of the stars and suns in whole galaxy couldn’t shine brighter.

It’s just- her. Bare soul and nothing else. Loyalty, will of survival, leadership skills; brilliance, brightness, beauty, kindness, goodness in her blazing and blinding and then she looks at him and he can’t breathe.

Of course, she took her. She saw her and she took her, cause her throne and her kingdom and her garden mean nothing and are nothing, when his girl doesn’t light it up in flames.

How this copy up there could ever fool him? Fool anyone?

 

Her eyes open wider and her lips move in the sound of his name:

_Bell Bell Bellamy you came_

_Oh,  princess. Of course I did._

They both take a step closer and she’s almost there, almost in his arms, when Lexa snaps: ‘’Enough’’ and ground between them growls and shakes and then spills in two, leaving them on two separated shores, arms still outstretched and need burning in bones.

He turns to Lexa, pleading, _begging._

‘’ You have no right to keep her here. Please, let me take her home.’’

‘’ On what grounds? Because what, she belongs to you? I took her.’’ Lexa raises one eyebrow and looks him right in the eyes. - ‘’ I saw her, I wanted her. I made this boy push her and she’s _mine_ now.’’

 

Anger pools in Bellamy, low in his stomach, the presence of Clarke so far and so near almost driving him mad.

‘’You don’t own her.’’ he growls. ‘’ And I don’t either. She owns herself. I’m not here, because she belongs to me; I’m here, because I belong to her.’’

 

Lexa turns her face away from his as if she was burned; she sights heavily.

’’You know, how the last one ended up? ’’

_Torn into pieces_

‘’ Well, you got his  girl eventually, didn’t you?”

Her face drops, but she quickly covers it with scowl.

‘ ‘Eurydice. Costia. No.’’ she shakes her head. ‘’ I didn’t get her.’’

His eyes come back to Clarke. She’s still frozen on her side of the crash;  flames licking her bare feet, golden hair like a halo around her face.

Lexa licks her lips and Bellamy sees, she’s looking at Clarke too.

Regret.

‘ ‘You know the rules.’’  - she finally says.  - ‘’ You go. You don’t turn around. She doesn’t stop-‘’

‘‘Why would she stop?’’-  he snaps.

‘ ‘Well.’’-  Lexa taps her fingers on her hip.-  ‘’ You have your task. She has hers. It’s none of your business; if your back is enough to get her through it, then-‘’

‘’ I win.’’

Clarke’s blue eyes, deep and wide and endless.

 _You believe in us, then I believe too_ she mouths to him.

‘’ You win.’’ – nods Lexa .

He sends Clarke one more glance and slowly turns around. Lexa snaps her fingers; he feels the ground shifting.

‘’Go.’’ –he hears Lexa. She sounds surprisingly soft. ‘’ Go home or come back, it’s up to you. Clarke.’’

Bellamy takes a deep breath and takes a step.

 

-

 

It could take five minutes or five hours or five days-

But it felt like five years. Five _millenias_ , even.

Going down to Underworld involved a boat; going back is a march, his feet burning every time they touch a ground.

Going back is going into the river; feeling  how freezing cold and disturbingly still it is as he swims; the thought of _Clarke not knowing how to swim_ heavy and choking.

Going back is climbing up the rocky hill with dirt under his fingernail, harsh weeds cutting his calves and stones bruising his knuckles.

But most of all, going back is pushing forward with vivid image of reaching home only to turn around and realize he’s all alone.

And the feels worse than death itself.

But she believes in them, believes in him. Hardly anything can make him lose it now.

He has to give her more than this,  though. If she’s behind him, he has to give her more than this hope and this belief and the sight of his back.

He has to give her a good story, like the ones they both love so much.

The smell of seashells and sound of their laughter in the summer air; hot –air balloon with O and Clarke inside of it, waving him as he looked right up at them, their figures outlined by the sun; the way she shifted towards him and held his hand on his mother’s funeral and her peach- scented lipstick ; deep wounds and healing wounds and how she unraveled underneath him for the first time; eyes wide open and flushed cheeks, hands light on his shoulders, her body locked around his, more beautiful than all the stars and all the poems and all the stories this world could’ve written and all the humans’ imagination could’ve created.

If that’s what she needs, he’ll give it to her.

 

* * *

 

**Part four: Elysium. Clarke.**

-

She wakes up in Bellamy’s arms, cheek pressed to his chest, legs tangled with his.

He’s still asleep, brows furrowed and hands on her waist, pulling her-

Finn. River. Water. Lexa. Garden. Bellamy.  Coming-

Back.

Coming back with his figure in front of her, voices screaming in her head and all the memories like a lifeline, pulling her up, to the light.

Two hundred dollars in bills stuffed in her pockets, white designer shirt and sweaty ponytail hanging low on her back, curls sticking to her neck when she first met him; wild and ruthless and lethal;  bruised knuckles, bloodthirsty and rage and hardly anything more,  sparks and electricity and summer storm between them, his hands  and his mouth surprising gentle on her, as she stood with back pressed to the wall and biting on her lips not to scream, ‘’we’re never gonna talk about it again’’ unspoken between them.

Uneasy alliance, greasy Chinese take-out and board games, his voice low and patient as he guided her through trainings; the smell of sweat and blood and rubber, her boxing gloves on the backsit of his car, all tangled between his favorite pair;  his fingers tapping on the steering wheel along the rhyme of the song and her opening her mouth to sing along ; his eyes warm on her, lips curving in a small smile, a laugh disguised as a chuckle, respect coming slow but firm; inevitable.

White sand on the beach, rides taking small crabs back to the sea, seagulls' shriek; how his hair felt when she tangled her fingers in it as he was giving her a piggy-back ride along the shore; their friends wolf-whistles; Bellamy’s heartbeat like the steadies thing in the world when she rested her head on his chest, both of them under the same blanket, staring at the fire until their eyes hurt and their walls broke down in half.

Star Wars logo frozen on her tv screen, her huge, spiteful cat purring on Bellamy’s lap, the smell of coffee, the melody of their voices; of inside jokes and good-natured bickering and bad puns and laughter; pillows he cross-stitched for her and the map of his freckles on half-finished sketch hidden underneath them.

Kissing him; kissing him out of touch and out of breath; her dress hitched up around her waist, his fingers dancing on the inside of her thighs, the way he felt, the way it all felt; up and down and back up, never letting go, never giving up, ‘’hey princess, slow it down’’ whispered in the shell of her ear and going so slow, barely moving until it almost hurts, until she, a girl made out of glass could only feel and feel and feel. Dizzy with love, drunk with it; melting and warm and sheltered and infinite.

Marble statues and bubblegum, heavy crowns and nerd jokes and Bellamy, always Bellamy, always _there._

Pulling her back.

‘’Bell.’’ She whispers, brushing his cheek with her fingers. ‘’Bell, wake up. We made it, we’re home, wake up.’’

This need to stay, stay, stay; whispers in the air, ivy around her ankles, trying to stop her, Lexa’s dark green eyes stay stay stay.

And Bellamy’s back and this desperate plea _please, don’t turn around, please believe I’m there._

And he did. He always did. Believing her when no one else did, when no one else would and especially not her.

 

Slipping into her body, like in a glove; gravity pulling her down; Bellamy’s warm skin pressed to her.

_Oh my god, I really, really missed you._

His eyes slowly open;  and she comes back home, just like that.

He stares at her with wild eyes , brushing hair out of her face; she traces the freckles on his cheeks, tears falling from her eyes with no purpose and no control.

‘‘It’s you’’

Wonder. _Awe._

She nods,  feeling dancing in her like bubbles in a champagne on New Years Eve when they  saw each other from across the swimming pool, blue lights coloring their faces and the whole world shattered in : ‘Oh. So it’s you. It’s gonna be you.’’

‘’It’s me. And it’s you, Bellamy-‘’ she wraps herself around him, closer and closer and still not close enough. - ‘’You took me home. It’s still you, it’s always you.’’

Sunlight falls into the room through half-open window; warm wind messes their hair and he presses his lips to her shoulder and breathes her in, breathes her in, anchoring her down.

 

* * *

 

**‘’ I would go to Hell to see you once more.**

**There’s a door on the third floor of the New York Public Library, on the way to the men’s toilets, by the little Charles Addams gallery.**

**It’s never locked. You just have to open it.**

**I would go to Hell for you.**

**I would tell them stories that are not false and that are not true.**

**I would tell them stories until they wept salt tears and gave you back to me and to the world.**

**It doesn’t have to be a year. I’d take a day. I’d take an hour.**

**I’d walk in front of you to the light.’’**

 

****Orpheus Underground – Neil Gaiman** **

**Author's Note:**

> So... That's it. Hope you liked this story, if you did, please leave me comments/kudos, I'll be really grateful for that.  
> Also, if you want to cry with me about bellarke and s3 and various other things, you can find me on tumblr here: alltheworldsinmyhead.tumblr.com


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